McShep Love Ficlets
by severus-fan
Summary: Written for the McShep Love community. More will be added as they are written. Unbeta'd.
1. Prompt: Hips

**Prompt: hips.**

* * *

><p>Rodney liked music, a wide variety of it spanning genres and time periods. The more time he spends in the Pegasus Galaxy, the more appreciation he gains for native music. He liked that most of it was just sound, no words to ruin the beat, unnecessary words to invoke emotion. Pegasus Natives didn't have much by way of technology for the most part - the wraith made sure of that - but musical instruments were hardly a threat, and so they focused their energy on creating music.<p>

One of the things Rodney did when they returned to Earth after that first hellish year was purchase a tape recorder. It was part of his standard offworld kit.

His love of music and his desire to collect the more memorable songs was why he allowed himself to be pulled into the group of dancers by a Taku native. On the dance floor, he was closer to the source of the music; it resulted in clearer recordings.

And maybe, just maybe, he wanted to show John Sheppard and his pretty Taku floozy that _he_ could draw admiring gazes too. Rodney did his best to avoid doing things he struggled to do well, but dancing was merely feeling the beat and moving to it. He could do that.

He _did_ do that. It was so easy to match the sway of his hips to the beat, to close his eyes and tilt his head back and feel the vibrations through the ground, the heavy _thump_ deep in his chest when the drums were hit. He breathed in the heat of bodies in close proximity, felt their bodies twisting with the music, and swayed his hips more. For one long, endless moment, he forgot about the recording, about John Sheppard. He hadn't danced just to dance in so long, not since his early twenties. It was freeing, an idea that seemed at odds with the close press of bodies. He hummed along with the beat, felt the vibrations deep in his chest; he threw his entire body into it, moving with the crowd. Brushes of hands and lips and faces against his chest, back, neck. Someone trailed their fingers along his shoulders, down his arm with a particularly deep _thump _of the drums. Rodney didn't open his eyes.

It wasn't long before someone settled their hands on his hips, pressed themselves against Rodney's back. He instinctively pressed back, felt an erection against him. Rodney's lips curled up in a pleased smile. Even if John remained oblivious _still,_ Rodney wouldn't be going back to his hut alone tonight.

The person behind him gripped Rodney's hips tighter, pulled him back more firmly, curled one arm under Rodney's arm and across his chest. Rodney reached up and touched that arm, let his head rest against the other man's shoulder, swiveled his hips. Rodney's ass dragged against the man's groin and he groaned deep, an arousing sound felt more than heard. It sank through Rodney's back, settled in his chest.

The music was getting louder now, reaching a crescendo. The crowd's movements were getting more frantic, more heated. Rodney's thoughts were scrambling, getting lost in in the heat and music and press of a male body against his. His eyes were still closed, his body moving without input from his brain, and just as the last resounding _thump _of the drums shook the ground beneath his feet, Rodney hoped.

Between one song and the next Rodney twisted around, gripped his dance partner's hips, reeled him in. Rodney hoped, oh how he hoped -

He opened his eyes.

"Oh," he said. He blinked.

"My place or yours?" John asked, those slinky hips that drove Rodney nuts swaying with the music. Rodney could touch them now, grip them tight during sex and kiss them and watch them slink about Atlantis, gun belt resting low, dragging his pants down.

"Nnn," Rodney said intelligently, and John laughed. His hazel eyes were dark, pupils blown, and they stared intently into Rodney's own.

"Let's go," John said hoarsely and dragged Rodney away from the fire-lit dance floor, toward their shared hut.

Behind them, the music continued. John and Rodney's hips, however, were moving to their own beat now.


	2. Prompt: Ears

Rodney likes to grip the pointy tip of John's ear between two fingers and wiggle it back and forth. It never fails to make John grumble and attempt to bury his head in his pillow, and Rodney will huff with laughter and press close, warm and comfortable and so, so in love.

When John has another stay in the infirmary, Rodney traces the outline of his ear gently, over and over. No matter how battered John is, his ears are usually the same as ever, and touching those ears while John sleeps, while he's dazed from drugs or waiting impatiently to be released, calms them both. It's become something of a ritual. They're both fine with that.

John doesn't get his fascination. He'll turn pink and squirm when Rodney mentions it even obliquely, which Rodney will never admit he finds adorable. It makes him want to gather John close and just hold him, feel his heartbeat, smell his unique John-smell, absorb his warmth; it all seems kind of mushy and romantic, much to his discomfort. Somehow though, Rodney doesn't think John would mind cuddling. Rodney plans to test this theory sometime soon.

John likes his ears nibbled and sucked on during sex. Rodney has _no _problem with this and frequently indulges himself - and John. But Rodney's favorite is when he waits until they're both drowsing on the edge of sleep before pressing a kiss to the shell of John's ear. It always heats up with the force of John's blush, and Rodney always presses his delighted smile against John's neck before falling over the edge and into sleep.

He doesn't know that once he's out, John moves to press a kiss of his own to Rodney's ear, inhaling the scent of his shampoo and feeling a sort of bewildered gratitude that warms him more than shared body heat or the sun ever could. John hasn't put a name to that warm feeling yet, but he knows it for what it is.


	3. Prompt: Belly

John has a secret fondness for Rodney's belly. He knows Rodney's a little self-conscious about it, knows that people usually prefer flat stomachs. But John can't help but watch Rodney's belly rise and fall as he sleeps, in the infirmary or in a tent offworld, and he _wants_. He wants to use it as a pillow; he bets it's soft and warm. He wants to nuzzle it and breathe it in. It'll smell like Rodney, like labs and impatience, and the rise and fall of it will prove that John's best friend is still alive.

He can't quite bring himself to take that first step. He can't admit that he's in love with his best friend, that he wants Rodney in every way, in any way.

Life is uncertain in the Pegasus Galaxy, though. It has a habit of sending curve balls, changing the rules of the game, and John can usually land on his feet. But when Rodney is hurt offworld, when an animal jumps him, swipes at his stomach (soft, vulnerable belly), John is out of his mind with rage and fear and worry.

Not Rodney. Not Rodney, _no_.

It takes two weeks, emergency surgery, and slight interference by way of healing ancient technology ('to quicken the healing process,' Carson says.) and Rodney is back in his rooms, moving slowly, curling protectively in on himself. John wants to kiss the downward curve of his mouth, press his hand against the pulse in his neck. Instead, he waits until everybody says goodnight, waits until the door closes.

Rodney's staring, eyebrow arched inquisitively. John knows he wants to know why John is still in the room, why he isn't leaving Rodney to healing sleep. But he has no idea what to say, feels words gathering deep in his throat, jumbled and sharp. Instead he falls to his knees, presses his face gently against the rise of Rodney's belly, breathes him in. God, fuck, he's touching it. It really is as soft and warm as he thought it'd be, smells as comforting as he knew it'd be. He nuzzles it, nose moving softly over the shirt-covered stomach, and presses a single, light kiss over the slight dent of Rodney's belly button. He sticks his nose into the small, round space of belly button and smiles.

"Rodney," he says, and his friend, who is still alive and warm, rests a gentle hand on John's head.

"John," Rodney murmurs, and traces the shell of John's ear.


	4. Prompt: Eyelashes: Rodney

There was no warning when the rain hit. The party was in full force and everybody had been doing some drinking. The last thing they were focusing on was the sky and approaching storm clouds.

When it hit, it was almost funny how everyone froze as the cold rain soaked through their clothes. And then everyone was moving toward the huge communal tent the food was kept under, much like a pavilion. John was laughing, taking in his team with a warmth the cold rain couldn't touch: Teyla's bright eyes, long hair sticking to her cheeks and throat; Ronon's white teeth against tanned skin, his dreds dripping water all over the floor; the rare smile of true happiness on Rodney's face, the bright eyes and flushed cheek and crooked smile. He looked ridiculous with his hair plastered against his head.

John didn't often let himself watch Rodney, but it was almost impossible to look away. Rodney's eyelashes were dark against the pale skin under his eyes. Every time he blinked they brushed against his cheek, dark against light, a contrast John couldn't tear his eyes from. They were just so _damn long_, those eyelashes. Jesus. He looked good, with his dark eyelashes and startling blue eyes. John wanted to press his mouth against his eyelids, feel his wet skin against John's mouth.

When Rodney caught him staring, he flashed a small, happy smile his way. He took the seat next to John, pressed their shoulders together, brushed his hand against John's knee. John's breath hitched, he blinked. John allowed himself to hope.

Rodney spent the rest of the night watching him with those blue, blue eyes of his, eyelashes slowly getting lighter as they dried.


	5. Prompt: Arms

Rodney _loved_ those black t-shirts John wore. He liked John in leather and definitely in those tight black shirt he wore to their Game Days, but those short sleeved t-shirts were in a category all their own. They clung to the curve of his muscles, to his shoulders. They loosely outlined his belly, his back. It made Rodney ache with want.

The cotton was soft too, and warm from body heat. Rodney knew this from those times he pushed John aside, leaned over his shoulder, touched his upper arm.

Rodney had never found body builders all that attractive. All those muscles, everywhere, bulging. Ronon made it work somehow, but John was the one Rodney found himself watching. Slender limbs, a runners build...and his arms. Rodney had lots of favorite John Bits, but his arms were his favorite. Especially when John had to lift something heavy, or held his P90 a certain way.

"Hnn," Rodney said, and John looked at him with concern.

"You alright buddy?"

Rodney nodded, his voice having deserted him. He loved it when John helped out in the lab. Loved it.

He missed John's knowing smirk.


	6. Prompt: Shoulders

Rodney's shoulders were just so _broad_. John wanted to touch them, drape himself over that curved back, those hunched shoulders. He bet that Rodney's shoulders could take his weight, hold him up. And Rodney would be warm - Rodney was always giving off heat, even when he complained of the cold.

But _those shoulders_. John had never had a thing for them before Rodney, but he really understood their allure now. He couldn't put into words exactly what he liked about them, about why they made him feel hot, why they made him want to touch Rodney all over.

But they did, and Rodney certainly never complained. And maybe, just maybe, he sometimes wore those shirts that always made John watch him that much more.


	7. Eye or Eyelashes: John

John's eyes, Rodney decided, reminded him of a swamp. Not that he'd ever seen a swamp, but just the world made him think of damp greens and browns, unpleasant heat and discomfort. He wondered why it was such a nice color for eyes, but in nature it was kind of disgusting.

It wasn't that he gave John's eyes a lot of thought. At least, he hadn't until recently. Because John had developed this, this..._thing_ against blinking, had taken to staring at Rodney over the conference room table, in the cafeteria, in the labs while Rodney ranted. It was unnerving, is what it was. What was his problem?

He'd asked Teyla and Ronon if John had this problem anywhere else, but they'd been absolutely no help. Ronon had seemed _amused_, Teyla patient. It was pretty much their normal state of interaction with Rodney, so he'd thrown up his hands and stomped off. Let him be unhelpful the next time they needed his assistance!

Rodney knew about alphas and dominance, about staring down the competition. Which admittedly made no sense. Shouldn't he be proving his dominance to Ronon? Which, wow, that was a _hot _idea. Rodney lost his train of thought after that, lost amidst images of dirty, naughty things. Oops.

The point is, is Rodney is clearly not a threat to John. And he didn't know how to handle all the blatant staring, so he did what he did best: experimented. He started by avoiding John for a day, but that was a failure; the man could _always find him_. He tried to avoid meeting John's (pretty) hazel-green eyes, but that didn't stop John from staring and hovering.

Desperate times call for desperate measures. Over dinner, Rodney purposely met John's eyes, stubbornly lifting his chin in a silent dare. John still _didn't look away_, it was driving Rodney crazy, he felt like he was going to come right out of his skin.

John's eyes, Rodney noticed, were kind of indescribable. If one had to, he supposed hazel-green would do, but that didn't really do them justice. There was really just a hint of brown, but mostly they were a light green. Less like a gross swamp and more like cool mint. Or something. What did Rodney know of plants or swamps?

Rodney was so busy staring that he didn't notice when Ronon and Teyla left, missed the knowing glances. Rodney was too occupied with contemplating the color of John's eyes that he didn't notice John's lips; full, pink lips that were curling up in a smirk. He did notice, however, when John stood, head tilting toward the exit, his pretty eyes never leaving Rodney's until Rodney nodded.

Rodney followed. It's what he'd always done, would always do. He followed John into the transporter, down the hallway, through the door's to John's room. Once inside, the door locked with a loud snick! and Rodney swallowed.

John's gaze was sharp and heated as they started at his feet and slowly made his way over Rodney's body. It felt like sinking into a bath, the path of John's eyes creating a slow, sweeping heat over his body. Rodney felt his breath speed up, felt his mouth fall open. His eyes fluttered shut. It was so hot in here, stifling almost, and Rodney wished, he wanted, John had to do something, now, before he expired.

When he opened his eyes, John was standing inches away, eyes boring into Rodney's own. Rodney tilted his head back, swallowed heavily. He licked his lips, breath catching in his chest and John's pretty eyes, heated gaze, followed the swipe of Rodney's tongue. John's pupils expanded, his breaths went deeper. He leaned forward, eyes locked once again with Rodney's, and when he licked his lips, the tip of his tongue touched Rodney's crooked, bottom lip.

How had he ever thought John's eyes were like cool mint? There was nothing cool about it at all.


End file.
